


tomorrow there'll be more of us

by saintsblade



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dream Smp, Gen, L’Manburg, MCD tag is because of the duel but it’s Minecraft so they come back to life don’t worry, Mentioned scars, Temporary Character Death, mentioned blood, probably, spoilers for L’manburg and Dream SMP war, the duel for L’manburg’s freedom is described, things that came out before the vlog and war vid: this fic and its sequels, wow that last tag aged poorly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26175202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsblade/pseuds/saintsblade
Summary: It is much easier to plan revenge against an unmoving hunk of steel than kind eyes and sweet words.The Dream SMP war against L’Manburg, and the aftermath.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 8
Kudos: 309





	tomorrow there'll be more of us

> Tommy has experienced death two times.
> 
> The first, in the raid that preceded the war. The second, when the traitor ratted them out.
> 
> Death may not be eternal, but the pain that comes from it, the lingering scars, and the trauma of the sword within your skin or the ringing of explosions in your ears does not leave you.

Tommy is 16, armed with a bow and tottering on his feet with the weight of the world on his shoulders when he challenges Dream for L’Manburg’s freedom. 

That damn mask. It obscures Dream’s face and smiles menacingly down at him. Before the war, Tommy used to think of it as a charming little thing. Had thought of Dream as a charming, competent ruler, one he would be proud to serve under. But now…?

Tommy stares back at Dream. They’re both battered from the poison potion, both on their final breaths. Tommy could probably kill him here and now, wrap his palms nice and snug around Dream’s defenseless neck. But that wouldn’t be very patriotic or honourable of him, would it? If there was anything L’Manburg stood for, it would be just that: honour. The little cynic on his shoulder, in the familiar shape of a pig, sneers at him. It tells him honour is no use on a battlefield like this. He bats it away with a scowl, summons up his courage. His eyes flick to Wilbur, standing tall on the hill behind them. Wilbur’s eyes are unreadable, and his expression is solemn. The bloodstains on his clothes have dried hours ago.

Tommy thinks of the discs that he has tucked nice and snug inside his Ender Chest. Cat and Mellohi. Green and purple. A memory of gleaming netherite armor and a bright green cape takes him back to the present. Dream has been silent this whole time.

Tommy knows one thing for certain about Dream: it’s that he’s reluctant to do this. For what reason, Tommy can’t possibly imagine.

He turns around. A shift of fabric, a clinking of an arrowhead against wood, and a sigh tells him Dream has done the same. No going back now.

“1,” Wilbur rasps, his tone unsteady. “2.” Tommy shuffles. His eyes are lowered to the ground; death is meaningless here, but not so much in war - nor is he used yet to the sensation of heaving his last breath. The last thing he wants to do is meet eyes with his comrades and lose his composure. “3.” He takes tiny steps. His heart is thundering in his chest. Him or me. Him or me. “4. 5.” The world is standing still. Only the sound of the water burbling below them can be heard now. “6.” Wilbur’s voice is no longer shaky. It is a tone Tommy has heard him use only once before, when he first declared war. “7. 8. 9.” This is it. For L’Manburg.

“10. Ready, fire!” 

Tommy shoots first. He shoots first, and in his haste, he misses. With a cry, he falls into the water to escape Dream’s arrow, quickly resurfacing to draw his bow again - but he never does. Dream’s arrow marks true on his heart, the flare of pain causing him to stumble backwards into the river again, and before he dies, Tommy thinks - This is it. I’ve failed.

It is one day before Tommy wakes up in his bed. He lifts his shirt off, gingerly, sore from sleep, from resurrection. It is barely more than a splash the size of his eye, but he sees it there, ugly and scabbed. The mark of his failure. 

“You’re awake,” Tubbo says. Tommy starts - he hadn’t seen his friend in the room.

“...I am.” Tubbo rests a hand on his shoulder, a comforting and familiar motion. He gazes pointedly at the Ender Chest, sorrow colouring his countenance, before he quietly trails out the door. So they will have that conversation now.

Tommy opens the chest. The Eye on the front seems to stare up at him mockingly. Silently and slowly, he removes the discs from the sheathes he had kept them in. They still shine like the night he had earned them, risking his life backing away from that creeper in the pitch black of the new moon. It’s true, the music can be replaced, but it’s not the music he wants to keep. With a heavy sigh, he resheathes them, slides them into his inventory, and heads out the door, Ender Chest quietly clicking shut behind him.

They are waiting for him inside L’Manburg.

Everyone is crowded outside the hot dog van except Wilbur and Dream. The Dream SMP members regard him quietly. They, too, understand the weight of this transaction.

“You’re awake,” Sapnap says, his usually upbeat and cheerful voice solemn. They were friends, once. Tommy spares him a glance. He’s sure the expression on his face says it all. George and Punz bow their heads in a swift nod. A sign of respect. Tommy is no sewer boy; he was raised with manners. He returns the gesture and turns to his fellows. Tubbo’s eyes are glistening; he, too, knows the true value of those discs. Some of it is because of him, after all. Fundy’s tail brushes gently at Tommy’s calves, reassuring, and the foxman pats a gentle paw on his shoulder. 

Tommy ignores the traitor. His ghostly, empty eyes are hidden from view anyway. Tommy tells himself he doesn’t care, even as his heart shrivels and aches inside him.

Wilbur and Dream are quietly talking in the last room of the van, but the conversation peters off when Tommy steps in the room. Wilbur rises, claps Tommy on the back without a word, and leaves, only the clicking of his boots echoing on the wooden floor.

“You’re awake,” Dream says to him. Tommy scoffs.

“Seems to be what everyone’s telling me.”

There is no point in delaying the inevitable. He pulls the discs out of his inventory, deliberate yet reluctant. He lays them out on the table. Dream remains motionless. Neither of them move, and neither of them speak.

“You will have your autonomy, so long as you agree that we are your mother state,” he eventually says. Reaching behind his head, Dream undoes his mask, and for the first time, Tommy gets to see the face of the man he had loved, admired, feared, hated. It is littered with scars from the battlefield, thin and stark white against his skin. His lips are chapped and his eyes are bright, haunting green, like the innermost ring of an Eye of Ender, eyebags puffed up underneath. They stare at him, solemnity and pride swirling within. Tommy bites back an ugly laugh and the urge to throw his middle fingers up. Pride? Whatever for? “You have my word.” He reaches his hand out, and Tommy shakes it, the warmth and callous of Dream’s hand reminding Tommy of the experiences Dream has had. For a second, Tommy thinks, Eret was right. We stood no chance.

The thought goes away quickly when he imagines bringing his heel down on a snake. Tommy drops his hand from Dream’s grip and the older replaces his mask. The blank white smile faces him again instead of a person, and Tommy can’t help but feel relieved.

It is much easier to plan revenge against an unmoving hunk of steel than kind eyes and sweet words.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, leave a comment or a kudo maybe? come say hi to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/saintsbIade), I draw too


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